Catherine had never been someone who hesitated to answer a call, unless she was working.
But this call…
Her heart thudded against her ribs, loud and uneven, as if something inevitable was about to arrive and she was not ready to face it.
She stared at the screen.
For a moment, she almost let it ring out.
If she let it go to voicemail, she could postpone it—delay him, delay this feeling, delay the way her chest tightened at just seeing his name.
But then she would have to call him back.
And that would be worse.
So she answered.
She opened her mouth to speak, then glanced at the sleeping baby and quietly slipped out of the bedroom before letting her voice out.
"Mr. Blackwood? Hello. I hope your Sunday is going well."
Her tone was polite. Deliberately so, as a gentle reminder that it was Sunday… and that she was not particularly pleased to be disturbed.
And yet… a small, traitorous part of her was delighted that she still refused to call him by his name.
